The Not So Sound Mind of Severus Snape
by LuckyTurtle
Summary: "Yes, I do believe insanity is the fate of all men and woman that are asked too much of. Albus Dumbledore certainly asked too much of me." Severus contemplates his life, his death, and his possible insanity. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

Dumbledore asked too much of me.

Perhaps he knew this, perhaps not. I have never been quite sure.

There were many sacrifices I made in my lifetime. For the Order, for Dumbledore, for the side of the Light. They were all hard on me.

It did not help that no one, other than Dumbledore himself, was grateful for what I did.

Grateful for _my life_, which I sacrificed on a daily basis (mentally, not physically).

I do not think anyone from the Order has truly ever understood exactly how hard it was for me to go on living each day.

Oh, I never had thoughts of suicide, of course.

Suicide would be a pathetic way to die. The coward's way out, you might say.

My life was simply a difficult one.

It was hard to get through a day, much less a month, and even harder, a year, without dying.

The Order did not understand what I gave up.

Lucius Malfoy used to be my best friend. Narcissa, dear Cissy, his wife, used to be my closest confident. Draco, their son, used to look up to me as his 'Uncle Sev' (is it not odd how you miss the small—and most annoying—things the most after they're gone?).

Bellatrix—when she was much younger and much saner—used to be like the sister I never had. Rudolphus—may he rest in peace—was once like a brother, though he acted more Gryffindor than Slytherin at times.

In fact, most—and many—of the older Death Eaters used to be very close to me.

Before Voldemort happened.

Before _Dumbledore_ happened.

Though I am grateful Dumbledore helped me in my time of need, even if it was done with a little bribing on his part, it was partially his fault that a lot of what happened, happened.

Of course, though the Order does not understand, I do not think it is possible for them _to_ understand.

If I were to (try to) explain, their tiny Gryffindor brains wouldn't be able to wrap their minds in the sensibility of my truths. They would simply react violently, outraged that I had once been friends with 'Death Eater Scum' (forgetting, momentarily, of course, that I was technically one, too—not that it really mattered to them).

Sometimes I wonder what they would say, or do, if they were to know that I joined the Light—in the beginning, at least—for only my own safety.

Dumbledore offered a way of surviving through the war—as any natural Slytherin would do, I took the chance he gave me and seized it to its full potential.

Perhaps, if I had not taken his proposal, I might have lived through the war as he had promised.

Perhaps, if I had followed the side of the Dark, as I was so magically inclined, I might have been happier.

I certainly wouldn't have been asked too much of, like Dumbledore so often did.

I wouldn't have been forced to kill yet another man.

Though I rarely felt guilt when tasks such as murder came across me, it was normally because I was able to convince myself those deaths were for a reason.

When defending myself, I could simply atone it to my survival—it's a kill or be killed world out there.

When murdering for Voldemort, I could simply tell myself I had no choice in the matter.

When killing in a battle _for_ the Order and _against_ the Death Eaters, I could convince myself the ones that died deserved it, so long as I didn't see their faces or recognize them.

However, the murder of Dumbledore, that I could not condone.

Though I understand why Dumbledore would wish for himself to be the last master of the Master Wand, it is not, to me, a sufficient enough reason.

Dumbledore did not _have to _take that task upon himself.

In fact, if he had not taken that task upon himself, I would have also had another chance at living.

I would not have been killed by Voldemort for that silly, stupid, _pathetic _little wand.

But perhaps I am, in fact, happy that I ended up dying.

It was about time I got some peace.

After all, when one is asked too much of, it often causes them to break.

And perhaps, by the end of it all, I did break. Perhaps I did go insane.

Because I cannot recall a single time I have smiled—at least a single time after I was six years old.

Yet, remarkably, when I died…

…I smiled.

Yes, I do believe insanity is the fate of all men and woman that are asked too much of.

**Review, please!**


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